


Baby Steps

by S_V



Series: Sugar, milk and honey [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post Season 15, Slow Burn, even with introspection Locus is an unreliable narrator, he is also a horrible mess, no beta we die like illiterate men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 17:11:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_V/pseuds/S_V
Summary: There was a knock on Locus’ door, and for a few highly embarrassing moments, he had absolutely no clue what to do. He simply froze, staring at the door with wide eyes before wondering if he could maybe pretend to not be in.-Or, how Locus tries and fails to make sense of what his life has become, and also what exactly Donut is actually saying. And just Donut in general.





	Baby Steps

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't NOT continue this.

There was a knock on Locus’ door, and for a few highly embarrassing moments, he had absolutely no clue what to do. He simply froze, staring at the door with wide eyes before wondering if he could maybe pretend to not be in.

Locus hadn’t even wanted a room in the sorry excuse for a base the simtroopers inhabited. He would have much preferred to stay on A’rynasea, where he could be alone and have his privacy. But Grif had filled his ship with his odd ... _ collection _ ... and, well. That was a hot mess Locus didn’t particularly want to get into, mostly because he had no idea how to handle it. There were no protocols for what to do when an emotionally unstable hawaiian filled your very limited space with volleyballs.

He’d brought it up only once, when they had returned to the moon. It had been after Grif had begged him to stay, at least for a few days, and Locus found himself agreeing for reasons he honestly didn’t understand. Locus had asked where Grif wanted his volleyballs, and Grif had absolutely panicked, shushing him and trying to clasp a hand over his mouth. Which didn’t work for a number of reasons, mainly because Locus was too tall for Grif to reach him properly, and also he was wearing his helmet. He patiently tolerated Grif flailing at him.

“Dude, no,  _ no _ , the guys can’t know about those, they’d think I’m crazy! And I’m not crazy, I’m totally not, I’m fine, I  _ was _ fine back then too, I just needed to tell them stuff, and to have some company, that’s normal, that’s  _ fine! _ But now they’re back, so they can’t know, so they can’t see, you see? They can’t see themselves, right, you get it, right?” he’d ranted, and kept up his attempt to touch Locus’ face, and Locus had been very happy for his armor.

It had gotten better, Grif’s incessant talking, his neurotic need to nervously rant and fill every moment with noise slowly disappearing after reuniting with the rest of the simtroopers. But in moments like these, where something upset Grif, he fell right back into it. Locus really wished he wouldn’t, for a number of reasons. It was unhealthy, and it was also very hard to follow sometimes.

“I get it,” he reassured. He didn’t. He didn’t understand at all, but he wanted to calm Grif down. “We’ll dispose of them, then, and they’ll never know.”

“ _ No! _ ” That, for some reason, had been the wrong thing to say, accomplishing the opposite of what Locus had intended. Now Grif was clinging to whatever piece of plating he could pry his fingers under, breathing too fast and too irregular for it to be doing him any good. Locus was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“No, no they’re my team, they’re  _ the guys, _ I can’t throw them out Locus! I already threw them out once, when I quit, I can’t do that again! I’m fine, but throwing them out would not be fine, that’d be very bad, I don’t want to do that again! You get it, right? It makes sense, right? I wanna keep them, keep my team, and my friends, and all of them!”

And that was how Locus had come to have a ship filled with dirty volleyballs and no room for him to sleep. Which had led to how he had found himself with a room in this odd base, how Sarge had decided that he could call dibs on a person, and how Locus had been proclaimed a Red without getting a say in the matter. Protesting sure hadn’t done him any good, and then Grif had been so happy about them being teammates, so Locus had just decided to… let it happen and try not to feel too awkward about it.

The knock sounded again, pulling Locus from his thoughts, and he realized he had been staring unblinkingly at the door. His eyes were very dry, and he closed them for a few seconds, refusing to acknowledge that he was doing so to stall.

It was just, no one knocked on his door, and that was how he preferred it. No one even came to his room, except for Grif, but he never knocked - he just opened the door, walked in like he belonged, and plopped himself down in a comfortable sprawl. Lately, he’d begun bringing snacks and squirrelling them away under the weapons locker in the corner, trusting Locus not to touch them. As long as it was hard candy and non-perishable products, Locus allowed it, mostly because the display of faith made him feel oddly warm. 

But the thing was, Grif was really the only one besides Locus himself to enter his room, and the only one who even interacted with Locus, for that matter.

Except for…

Franklin Delano Donut was standing outside his door, and Locus wasn’t entirely sure when he had crossed his room to open it. He only knew that now he was no longer staring at the closed door, but rather staring down at Donut, who had one hand raised to knock again. The other was hidden behind his back, holding something, and Locus mind automatically accessed what could be a hidden weapon or threat.

It looked somewhat heavy, based on the way Donut’s shoulder was slightly raised, the pink top he was wearing doing nothing to hide how his muscles were tensed. There was a flash of something straw-colored behind him, meaning the item was too large to be easily hidden by his body, and Locus instinctively did a mental stock of where his own weapons were; gun at his side, hidden blades in his gauntlet and boots, the rifle in pieces on a cloth lain over the small table, where he had been cleaning it and pondering the very man who was now beaming up at him.

“Hi!” Donut chirped, and Locus reminded himself to blink so his eyes wouldn’t dry out again. He didn’t reply, but that seemed to have absolutely no effect on the million watt smile directed his way. 

“Can I come inside?”

“Why?” Locus hadn’t meant to be so blunt, or possibly sound rude, but he honestly wanted to know.  _ Why _ would Donut want to come into his room? Why would he want Locus to eat with them, for that matter, why was he so persistent, why did he  _ care? _

Locus didn’t understand him at all. He really understood none of the simtroopers, and he hadn’t exactly made an effort to, either. He hadn’t cared enough to do so. But then Donut had begun butting into Locus’ business. It had started out easy to ignore, just invitations to wine and cheese, and Locus had brushed it aside. Only, that hadn’t made Donut take the hint and give up, like he’d thought it would. On the contrary, he kept at it, stubborn yet somehow never crossing the lines of Locus’ comfort.

It had culminated in Locus revealing a weakness, in what he later told himself had not been him messing up and making a mistake, but rather an attempt at logic. Surely, if he reasoned with Donut, he would drop it. It’d had nothing to do with how oddly  _ soft _ Donut had been in the moment, how caring yet respectfully he had approached the subject, despite the strange innuendos he kept making. Nothing at all. Locus surely hadn’t just slipped up and blurted out the truth, he had acted based on very precise tactical calculations, clearly.

And Donut hadn’t used it against him. Not only that, he’d kept it secret, and then  _ ordered food specially for Locus _ , taking the full blame and risking the ire from his comrades for it. Locus had no idea what to do about that, how to decipher what it meant. Which was what had driven him to the calming act of cleaning his rifle in the first place. It was a nice and safe routine, one that made all his confusion bearable because he knew exactly what to do at what time. It was soothing to have protocols to follow.

He had been doing a lot of weapons maintenance, lately.

“Because! I’m here to proposition you, and I’m thinking you’re not into doing these things in public places, right?” Donut said, and Locus’ body was moving aside before his mind had caught up to what was happening. He was too distracted trying not to blush, and to make sense of Donut’s words, because surely this was just another of those innuendos he didn’t mean and seemingly didn’t even realize he made.

He likely meant that… he had a suggestion, maybe? That he wanted to discuss something in private. Right. That made sense, yes, but it was too late for him to realize that - he’d reacted instinctively on the innuendo instead of the meaning behind it, thinking that no, he did not want to be solicited in the hallway outside his door, thank you very much. And so he had stepped away and made room, and now Donut was moving into his room. He was inching sideways through the doorway, keeping his back turned away from Locus to hide whatever he was holding, even as his gaze quickly swept over the room.

There wasn’t really much to look at; Locus kept his small room beyond spartan. There was an immaculately made bed, the small table next to it currently covered in his disassembled rifle, the locked weapons rack Grif stored snacks under (one of many - he had more aboard A’rynasea, though he didn’t let Grif keep things underneath those as well), and a small closet, equally locked. And, in the corner…

“Oh,” Donut said, sounding pleasantly surprised at the sight of the large beanbag chair pushed against one wall.

“Grif brought it,” Locus warned, “said that he needed something more comfortable to relax in. I do not think it was originally this color.”

“ _ Oh, _ ” repeated Donut, but with such a different intonation that Locus felt one corner of his mouth twitch upwards. He almost startled, raising a hand to physically wipe at his lips to get rid of the smile. A quick glance at Donut to see if he had spotted it showed the other beaming at him, eyes sparkling in a decidedly pleased manner.

Locus suspected he hadn’t gotten away with his little slip-up unnoticed.

“Well, it  _ is _ a very interesting shade of greyish brown… Cedar, hm? I think I won’t sit in it, it can just be a nice decorative item. I don’t need something that soft anyways, my behind can handle a bit of rough treatment!” Donut happily declared, and Locus could feel his facial muscles twitch, wanting to scrunch up and go slack at the same time. He suddenly missed his helmet a lot, but he’d removed it so he could get a clearer view of what he’d been doing while disassembling his rifle. Even Locus with his limited social skills knew that putting it on now, when he had company, would be very rude indeed.

He was tempted to do so, anyways. He hadn’t even  _ wanted _ company, Donut had just surprised him, and then somehow managed to slip into his room, and now here they were, and Locus didn’t know what to do. He felt a tiny niggling of something he didn’t want to admit might have been beginning panic. It grew exponentially when Donut starting moving towards his bed.

“How can I help you?” Locus was trying his best to keep his voice flat and dismissive, but his curiosity bled through, making it sound like a genuine question. It wasn’t like Locus was actually wondering what he could do for Donut; he was wondering about Donut himself. The man was  _ odd. _ All the simtroopers were, really, but Donut especially so, with how he acted like he cared about Locus.

It was something Locus found very hard to believe, but at the same time, he couldn’t think of Donut as a threat who might be trying to manipulate him like Felix had done. It just didn’t fit, in Locus head, like two pieces from entirely different puzzles. Which honestly left him with nothing but confusion, and no idea how to act. As if to make everything even harder for him, Donut shot him a smile that for all intents and purposes seemed completely genuine.

“I have a surprise for you!” he said, sounding almost giddy, and Locus wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say something to that, so he didn’t. At least Donut had momentarily stopped advancing on his bed - that had made Locus nervous. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Donut was waiting for a verbal prompt, instead withdrawing what he had been hiding behind his back with a happy “ta-dah!”

Locus was pretty sure his resulting silence was just a tiny bit too long to avoid being rude. He raised a brow.

“It’s a wicker basket,” he stated, finally, because he didn’t know what else to say. And, well. It was. More specifically, the type of wicker basket usually associated with picnics, complete with a piece of checkered fabric lining it, and one of those needlessly complicated lids that opened in both ends and thus made it much more difficult to actually get anything into the thing for storage. It was entirely impractical, and also rather misplaced in the otherwise drab interior of Locus’ room.

Donut blew out his cheeks at him, placing his free hand in his side, the gesture containing just enough flair to let Locus know it was meant to be playful and not communicating actual insult. At least, he was fairly certain that was the case.

“It’s a  _ surprise _ ,” Donut insisted, then jiggled the presented basket a bit, “I’ll put it on your bed since your table is occupied, is that okay? I don’t want to just place it on top of your gun stuff, that would be rude.” And there is was again, the sweet and effortless regard, making Locus dip his head in permission without thinking about it, because it meant more to him that Donut was respecting his weapons than that he was asking for permission to use Locus’ bed as a table.

Then Donut sat himself down next to the basket. On Locus’ bed. Right there, on top of the sheets he  _ slept on _ , and Locus immediately regretted nodding. He had no clue what to- to  _ do _ about this, suddenly having Donut on his bed. More distressing still, Donut was looking at him expectantly, and Locus wondered if he was meant to ask about the basket, or if doing so would be rude. Donut saved him from having to make a decision, something softening in his face as he sent Locus a kind smile. It gave Locus the feeling that somehow, Donut had known his exact dilema, which would have been unsettling if he called him out for it. But he didn’t, just opened the basket without needing to be asked.

“So,” Donut began, reaching into the basket and producing… a  _ thing _ . Locus had no idea what it was, just that it was vaguely square, and packaged up in foil. “We’ve got almond cheese, cashew cream cheese, some tofu, no less than three weird alien cheese alternatives, and this!” With a flourish, he withdrew a bottle covered in a colorful plastic wrapping, depicting renditions of children playing with a large cartoon peach.

Locus very slowly blinked. Donut wrinkled his nose.

“Well, I did place an order for some alcohol free wine, but I think the poor dears at Chorus must have assumed it was for Caboose, and sent this instead. I think this is kids champagne?” he said, looking down to study the bottle, and Locus got a feeling Donut might just be very tactfully giving him a moment to process the situation.

Locus really  _ needed _ that moment. After the presentation, he could see that the things Donut had brought were edibles, packages and blocks of various cheese substitutions. There was also plates, two wine glasses, biscuits, and something that looked like miniature butter knives which Locus promptly hated for how utterly useless they seemed. They weren’t what mattered, though. What  _ mattered _ , what had him utterly speechless, frozen in shock, was that Donut had done this. For him. Without needing prompting, or asking for anything in return, or any other good reason Locus could think up.

Donut had simply asked him to have wine and cheese with him, and when Locus gave the reasons he couldn’t, Donut had adapted and worked around those without complaining. And now, here they were, and there was cheese Locus could eat, and the best substitution for wine Donut could manage to get, and Locus didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t know if he  _ could _ say anything, actually. His mouth was suddenly very dry, as were his eyes, and his tongue felt clumsy and too big in his mouth. Blinking fixed his eyes, but it got him no closer to being able to get words out.

Somehow, Donut seemed to sense that this was overwhelming him, and it made Locus wonder just what his face was looking like right now. He knew he had the misfortune of having expressive features, but there was no way he could muster even attempting to school them right now. This was all too much, and Donut effortlessly saved him from being overcome by the entire situation by sending him a beaming smile and nodding towards his chest.

“Want to get out of that and slip into something more comfortable?” he asked, artfully distracting Locus and making him blush before he realized that Donut was likely referring to his armor in his own weird way. He uneasily glanced down at himself, blinked, then looked back up just in time to see something in Donut’s gaze softening. It was like watching melting fudge, just as sweet and warm, and Locus didn’t know what to do, being on the receiving end of it.

“You’re more comfortable in your suit than out of it, hm?” Donut phrased it like a question, even though it was a statement of the truth. Once more, his strange ability to see through Locus caught him off guard, making him lower his defenses without even knowing. He nodded, then realized what he was doing and tried disguising the motion as just a twist of his head. He could  _ not _ be slipping up again and admitting to yet another weakness, dammit!

The patient way Donut smiled at him let him know he hadn’t gotten away with his attempt at hiding the nod for what it was. Stranger still, it made it seem like he didn’t  _ have _ to, like it was okay to have such glaring and obvious flaws as Locus had.

“Well then, that’s just fine, you know what you need the best! It  _ does _ look very becoming on you, I’ll say. Come and get into bed with me,” Donut invited, happily patting the surface of Locus’ bed in obvious invitation. That was all it took to shake Locus out of his frozen state and enable him to move again - not that he did as told. On the contrary, he took a stumbling and inelegant step back, blinking rapidly a few times as he could feel his face burn, his eyes widen. Donut just kept on smiling, and, right. It had merely been another of those weird things he said. He was just asking Locus to sit down with him.

Locus absolutely  _ could not _ sit down right now. There was too much happening, and he was scared that sitting down would make him feel trapped. There was an almost soothing edge to Donut’s expression, as if he could guess exactly what Locus felt, or maybe read it on his face. No matter what, it was impressive, because Locus himself wasn’t even sure what his emotions were doing; only that whatever it was, it was overwhelming. He couldn’t look at the other any longer, instead flicking his eyes across the room before glancing at the items Donut had procured and arranged.

“What is this?” he asked, definitely not stalling, and when Donut answered, it  _ definitely _ wasn’t because he was humoring said stalling.

“Improvised and slightly adapted Donut’s wine and cheese hour! I know you have your reasons for not participating, so I thought this would be a nice compromise to meet your needs, you know? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but you should have the same options as everyone else. Now, your intolerance won’t be making the decision for you, you get to actually decide if you  _ want _ to do this!” Donut looked incredibly pleased with himself, gesturing to his little spread. Something odd ached in Locus’ chest, making his face twist and his eyes briefly waver. He firmly told himself he wasn’t finding this heart-warming in any way, and that he  _ definitely _ wasn’t even the least bit touched.

It was just, Donut had already done a lot for him. He’d ordered food, lied, kept Locus’ secrets. Now he’d gone above and beyond even that, and for what reason? Just for Locus’ sake? It seemed incomprehensible -  _ unimaginable _ even - that he would not only keep Locus’ flaws to himself, but also adapt to them. Like they weren’t weaknesses.

Locus took a cautious step closer to his own bed, too busy eyeing the items spread out on it to notice how Donut’s smile grew.

“If it’s wine and cheese hour, why the tofu?” he asked, because questions were nice and safe, they made for great distractions, and also discussing practical things like this was okay. It was safe. He could wrap his head around that small aspect, even if the full scope of things was still unfathomable to him.

“Well, am I glad you asked! You see, I did my research, yes? And apparently, there’s this thing called  _ silk tofu _ which is sometimes used as a cheese substitution among vegans on Earth. Exotic, right? I couldn’t get that, but I could get regular tofu, and I figured it was probably the same thing,” he chirped, sounding so excited that Locus didn’t have the heart to tell him he was fairly certain tofu wasn’t exotic in any sense of the word. He shuffled a bit closer without even being aware of it.

There was a choice to make, here. He could almost feel it as a tangible thing in the room, making the air between them heavy. Locus had been turning down all invitations for this wine and cheese hour so far. He hadn’t wanted to get involved; not with the social gatherings, or Donut, or any of the simtroopers. Grif had somehow wormed his way under his skin, and Locus wasn’t even sure how that had happened. And now, here Donut was, doing the same thing yet something completely different. He was being kind, and considerate, and confusing beyond belief, and Locus didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to put on his helmet, cloak himself, and leave, as he had previously done whenever Donut had tried extending kindness to him. But this would be more than just slapping away an extended hand, because  _ Donut _ had done more. So much more. And another part of Locus, a part that was so very easily drowned out by the urge to shield and hide himself, wanted to make an effort. Because even if Donut was making it seem natural, like he wasn’t going through any trouble for Locus’ sake, Locus still felt that his weaknesses were burdens and something to be ashamed of. Meaning logically, Donut  _ had _ to be making some sort of effort, and in response, that odd little part of Locus which was feeling moved by this wanted to put in some work, as well. Just the bare minimum, to make Donut feel like it hadn’t all been for nothing.

Before he knew what was happening, Locus was gingerly seating himself on his bed, opposite Donut, feeling skittish and honestly more than a little shocked in himself. More than ever, he wanted to lunge for his helmet and flee. Or maybe grab his rifle, to assemble it and then take it apart again and again, repeating the process and following a well-known protocol until he would stop thinking.

Then Donut beamed at him, and the rising panic quieted down, allowing Locus to slightly relax his shoulders and actually sit comfortably.

“Want some replacement wine?” Donut asked, holding up the jarringly colorful bottle, and if it bothered him that he was very much carrying the conversation and entire situation, he didn’t let it show. Locus nodded, being conscious of doing it properly this time - no more odd jerks of his head because Donut just lured those reactions from him. And, in what felt like a painfully clumsy attempt at settling into the situation and meeting Donut on whatever middle ground he was setting up, Locus took the two glasses and held them out. Donut positively  _ shone _ from the force of his smile.

Locus held still as Donut fiddled with the plastic wrapping around the bottle, which did indeed seem to be some imitation of champagne. It had the cork and everything, although it was made from some sort of blue synthetic material. The whole thing looked terribly clashing and quite honestly horrid, but Locus kept that to himself. It didn’t matter, anyways - this was about the gesture, Donut going through the trouble to get something like this for the two of them. For Locus.

The cork popped, white foam jetting out of the bottle, and Donut squeaked. He quickly pulled it towards himself to avoid getting anything on Locus’ bed, which instead resulted in the foam dripping down his lap and soaking into his pink top.

“Oh dear!” Donut laughed, “seems that was a guy and he was excited!” Locus, who had been reaching for the neat little stack of napkins Donut had brought, dropped the glasses he had been intending to put down. They bounced harmlessly on the mattress a few times, and Donut laughed some more.

“Oh my, now I’m all wet and sticky, this white stuff sure gets everywhere,” he commented, and Locus decided the only way he would ever manage to actually get the napkins would be by trying to ignore anything else Donut might say. His face was  _ burning _ , the heat spreading even to his ears and the back of his neck. Donut giggled again, sounding like he was finding this nothing more than a hilarious little accident and was having a blast. Locus couldn’t bring himself to actually look at him to confirm this; he just closed his hand around the napkins, then awkwardly shoved the handful in Donut’s direction.

Fingers brushed over his as Donut took the offering, and the touch  _ was _ kind of tacky. It also for some reason made the heat in Locus’ face worse. He turned his head to stare at his disassembled rifle, categorizing each carefully laid out part until he felt like he had control over his face again.

“Do you… require anything? A towel? A change of clothes? I can- get that? For you?” Locus was absolutely floundering, only daring to look back when Donut laughed again. It was a sweet sound, genuine and happy and most importantly, not containing any sort of malice or mockery. He was met by the sight of Donut carefully wiping at a wet stain on his top, holding the fabric out from his body to better get to it. The bottle was secured between his knees, and he was smiling effortlessly, eyes sparkling with humor.

“No no, it’s fine, I don’t mind getting a little dirty,” he assured, and then Locus had to look away again. “I think that’s as good as it’s gonna get! Mind holding out the glasses again?” Donut fortunately spared him from having to comment on that first part, and also gave him something practical to do with himself. Locus very much appreciated that, scrambling to pick up the glasses from where he’d dropped them. Donut discarded the used napkins back into the basket, then filled the glasses before taking one of them from Locus.

This time, when their hands touched, it wasn’t sticky, yet it still made Locus’ face burn just as hotly as it had before.

“Cheers,” Donut said, raising his glass to Locus. Very self consciously, Locus mirrored the gesture, and then when Donut clinked their glasses together, the feeling of having his tongue suddenly replaced by a very dry stone returned. He quickly tried to wet it by taking a sip from his raised glass, but as soon as the liquid hit his mouth, he coughed.

“Oh,” Donut exclaimed, voice choked, “oh dear, that is- that is  _ something _ .” It was cloyingly sweet, tasting of synthetic peaches and sugar, and not much else. A glance at Donut revealed that his face was delicately scrunched up, his lips pinched together, eyes squinted shut. Like he had tasted something sour, only this was the exact opposite, so sweet it made Locus’ teeth hurt.

The situation - two grown men, both of them soldiers in their own right, drinking some disgusting concoction clearly meant for children - struck Locus then. He couldn’t help but exhale through his nose, a sound that was almost a chuckle but not quite. This was all utterly ridiculous, but that also made it funny to him, the harmless silliness of the entire thing. Donut’s eyes flashed open, his expression briefly showing surprise before he broke into a pleased grin, tilting his head back and laughing freely. There was something pure about simply sharing enjoyment together like this, and Locus felt himself actually enjoying Donut’s laugh, completely confident that it wasn’t aimed at him.

This time, when he felt a smile cross his lips, Locus allowed it to linger instead of fighting it or trying to hide it.

“It’s  _ bad _ ,” he stated, and that made Donut dissolve into giggles once more. As he did, the last of the heaviness in the air seemed to dissolve, as well, along with the pit of nervous panic that had been nestling deep in Locus’ gut. He allowed himself to enjoy this, because even if the soda-esque  _ thing _ they were drinking really was disgusting, it was also good. Good, because of what it meant, the effort it represented. Locus disliked the taste, but he liked the presence of the liquid itself. Carefully, he settled into the moment, letting Donut finish laughing and simply enjoying how natural his own smile felt.

“Hey, will you let me rearrange your insides?” Donut asked, and where the champagne hadn’t manages to make Locus choke, this did. Then, as Donut continued to talk about interior design -  _ interior design, of course it was interior design, nothing else _ \- Locus fought to get his burning face under control. It was only much later, as he went to bed and discovered that his sheets smelled faintly like Donut’s cologne, that something occurred to him:

He’d been embarrassed by what he thought Donut was suggesting, but… what had made him balk had been the words, not the notion itself.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if the saying "it's a guy" about a bottle when it overflows is a thing everyone does, or if it's just where I'm from? No matter what, I used it and I have no regrets!


End file.
